


Picking up the Pieces

by helsinkibaby



Series: Dark Horses [11]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, Het, Love Triangles, Romance, trigger warning: mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-30
Updated: 2002-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1567751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The staff of the West Wing deal with the events of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> {2002} This takes up where Dark Horses - Breaking Point leaves off.

  
After hanging up the phone from CJ, there was nothing for Sam and Carol to do but sit down and wait. They took up the same positions as they'd been in all night, with Sam's arm around Carol's shoulder, her head resting against his shoulder. His head was on top of hers, and one hand stroked her hair gently, the other was entwined with both of hers. She'd stopped shaking, he noted, and her tears were dried too, but she was still holding on to him as if he was going to vanish on her at any second. Not that he could blame her; he was holding on to her just as tightly.

There was a strange sense of unreality to the night he decided. Lack of sleep wasn't the problem; he'd gone without sleep often enough. It was more the fact of where he was, and the reason he was here. The night nearly two years before had been bad enough, the night that their lives were rent apart by a barrage of gunfire and an act of madmen. This was worse. This was his assistant, his colleague, hell, his friend who was lying here somewhere, fighting for her life, and it wasn't because of an act of madmen; there wasn't anyone that they could blame for it. She'd done it to herself, and that was something that he couldn't reconcile. Ginger was the sweet, sassy one in the bullpen, who'd always had a smile for everyone, who was never shy about putting her opinions forth, albeit in the nicest possible way. He'd known that she wasn't herself, had known that she was putting on a front, a bloody good one at that, for the rest of the staff, and he hadn't thought that he'd been fooled.

Now he could see just how wrong he'd been.

His worry was split equally between his friend in the hospital and the woman in his arms, the woman who was taking this even harder than he was, harder than anyone would suspect. She'd cried in his arms earlier, with him trying to convince her that there was nothing that she could have done, but he didn't think that he'd done too good a job of that. Still, she'd quieted somewhat, and he thought that she might even be dozing off, which would be the best thing for her in his opinion.

He let her stay where she was, not moving for fear of jostling her, until a white-coated young woman approached them. She looked as tired as Sam felt, but there was a smile on her face all the same. "Excuse me," she said quietly, looking at Sam, evidently feeling that Carol was asleep. "You're waiting for Ginger Brady?"

At the mention of her friend's name, Carol sat up quickly. "Yes," she said. "Is she…"

"We've moved her to a room," the young woman said. "Doctor Atkins said that I should show you up."

They stood slowly, stiffly, and followed her, hand in hand through the halls of the hospital. Once they got to the end of a corridor, someone called the woman, and she turned, waving in the direction of the voice. "They need me," she said apologetically. "But it's just up there, room 25."

Sam and Carol nodded their thanks, making their way up to the door, only to be stopped a couple of steps away by a nurse who looked every inch the stereotypical nurse caricature. "You can't go in there," she told them firmly. "Miss Brady needs her rest."

Sam heard Carol's sharp intake of breath, felt her grip his hand even tighter, and set his jaw accordingly. "We were told that we'd be able to see her," he said politely, with his best smile.

It didn't cut any ice with the nurse, whose name he could see by her tag, was Hooper. The thought of asking her if she had any relations named Winifred crossed his mind, but he decided against it. "I'm afraid you'll have to come back when visiting hours are in session," she repeated.

"Nurse Hooper, I realise that you have your rules, but frankly, we're extremely worried about our friend. We were the ones who called the ambulance…"

"And I’m sure she'll thank you," Nurse Hooper cut across his words. "But she'll have to do it tomorrow morning. Good day Sir."

She half-turned to move away down the hall, but Sam had worked with Toby Ziegler for four years, and for the last three he'd been staring down Congressmen and Senators on a weekly basis; this was nothing to him. "I don't think so Nurse," he said, and she turned back to him then, one eyebrow arched, staring at him coolly.

"Sir…"

"Nurse Hooper, we have been sitting in that waiting room for hours, worried out of our minds. Our friend is inside that room, and she is alone, and she is afraid, and we are not going to go home and leave her that way." He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. "My name is Sam Seaborn, and that might not mean much to you, but I happen to be the Deputy Communications Director at the White House. Now, you can either let us in there right now, or I can get on the phone and have a half dozen Secret Service agents down here with a Presidential order to let us in. So why don't you save me some time and you a whole lot of embarrassment, and just let us in, huh?"

The nurse looked at them for a long moment, and he could feel Carol's grip on his arm increase, but he didn't look away from the nurse. Finally, she took a step towards Ginger's room and opened the door, but didn't say a word.

Beside him, Carol breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she whispered.

Sam nodded his thanks, and the nurse nodded once in acknowledgement, a sour expression on her face. "Can I get you and your wife some blankets Mr Seaborn? There are chairs in the room."

Sam nodded, only half listening. "That would be great, thank you."

The nurse walked away, and he looked down at Carol, only to see her looking at him in frank amazement. "Sam!" she hissed. "Secret Service wouldn't get involved in something like this!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You know that," he pointed out. "And I know that. She didn't." She continued to look up at him, shaking her head. "Hey, it worked, right? Let's go." He wasn't in the least bit apologetic as he and Carol went into the room.

Carol gasped when she saw the still figure on the bed, one hand going to her mouth, and Sam had to swallow hard himself. Ginger was always pale; he'd heard her complain on more than one occasion about the curse of having red hair and pale skin, usually in the summer while everyone else was getting tans and she was still milky white. Still, he'd never seen her this pale before; didn't think he'd ever seen anyone this pale before. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked tiny lying there, hands by her sides. "How did we miss it?" he heard Carol whisper, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, not responding, not needing to.

They stood there until Nurse Hooper came in with blankets for them, then he tugged on Carol's arm gently, bringing her over to the chairs, getting her to sit down. "C'mon," he said quietly. "Let's get you covered up here, try to get some sleep…"

They were sitting side by side, her head once more resting on his shoulder, eyes on Ginger, when she spoke. "Sam?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You didn't correct the nurse."

He frowned at her quiet statement, not sure of what she meant. "What?"

"Nurse Hooper. She called me…" She paused, a slight chuckle escaping her. "She called me your wife. You didn't correct her."

He blinked, running the conversation through his head, realising that she was right. He hadn't even realised he'd done that. "Huh," he grunted quietly.

"What?" She lifted her head slightly to look at him, her face a mask of curiosity.

He smiled down at her, and despite the circumstances, despite the nightmarish quality of the whole evening, a sense of peace settled over him. "How 'bout that?" he asked quietly, and she smiled up at him too as he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "Get some sleep," he told her, tightening his grip. "I'm here."

He thought she'd done as he'd told her, thought that she was asleep. Then he heard her whisper something, and it caused him to grin as he closed his own eyes.

"I love you too," he replied as he drifted to sleep.

>*<*>*<

The White House seemed like a different place a few hours later as he walked through the halls. He'd gone home to shower and change, and it felt strange to be walking around the West Wing in the middle of a working week, clad in his "Saturday casual" clothes. He wasn't here to work, was only paying a flying visit, but he'd wanted to go in to see if there was anything urgent that needed doing, and when she'd seen that in his eyes, Carol had made him promise to go to see CJ, to reassure her in person that they were both doing all right.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorframe, and she stood up quickly when she saw him, motioning him in.

"How are you?" was her first question as she sank down on the couch, motioning for him to join her. "And how's Carol? Where's Carol?"

"She's still at the hospital," Sam replied, remembering the look on her face when he'd told her where he was going. He'd been whispering, afraid of waking Ginger, and she'd held his hand tightly as he stood beside her, with her looking up at him. Her lips had told him to go, but her eyes had been half-pleading with him to stay, and he'd kissed the top of her head before he left, pausing at the door to watch her re-settling herself across the two chairs, trying to make herself more comfortable. "She didn't want to leave…I just went home to…" He waved a hand around the general area of his chest, and she nodded quickly, understanding what he was getting at.

"You're not here to work though, right? You're going back there?" The look CJ was giving him told him loud and clear that there was only one appropriate answer to that question, and he nodded quickly.

"Yeah. I just stopped by to see if there was anything that had to be done." He paused, and looked hard at her. "Or if anything was being said…"

He let his voice trail off meaningfully, and thankfully, CJ was her usual self, and saw through to the heart of the question. "I called up Leo, Josh and Toby after you called me," she told him. "I also brought in Margaret, Donna, Bonnie and Charlie. I told them what I knew, and swore them to secrecy."

"So, if anybody asks…"

"If anybody asks, Ginger was taken ill last night with appendicitis. You and Carol are taking some time off to do…" She waved a hand, a flash of humour in her eyes. "Couple stuff."

"Couple stuff?" Sam had to bite back his own laughter at that.

"What do you want from me?" was CJ's answer, swatting at him playfully. "And you should be thanking the White House gossip machine my friend, because it's a testament to the way we talk about you two that it's so plausible."

Sam could feel a hint of redness creeping its way up his cheeks, and he shook his head in embarrassment. "I appreciate you doing that CJ," he said, changing the subject. "Under the circumstances, I didn't think Josh or Toby would be…"

"God no!" CJ agreed, her eyes widening in horror. "Josh has locked himself in his office all day, he's hardly stirred. Donna, Margaret and Bonnie disappeared for an hour after I told them, and no-one turned a hair. Toby's storming around here like a madman, we're all running when we see him coming…" She shook her head. "I just can't…"

"Yeah." Sam cut her off with a sigh. "Join the club."

"Sam?" CJ asked after a moment's silence. "How is Carol? Really?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again, wondering how best to phrase his answer. "She's ok," he answered eventually, reconsidering his answer again when he saw the look on CJ's face. "She will be ok," he amended.

CJ took a deep breath, her whole body moving up then down with the force of the motion. "Sam…" she began, closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand. "You know, don't you…I mean, I know you know, you have to know…"

"About what happened when she was sixteen." It didn't take a genius for Sam to figure out what she was talking about, and he didn't miss the look of relief that flitted across CJ's face. "She told me. When we started dating, she told me."

"So you're keeping an eye on her, right?"

Sam nodded. "Always."

CJ held his gaze, then a smile broke out on her face. "I keep forgetting how cute the two of you are," she admitted.

This time, Sam didn't even try to fight the blush that he felt coming on. "We get that a lot," he admitted.

CJ leaned back against the cushions of the couch, regarding him thoughtfully. "You're really serious about her, aren't you?" she asked finally.

Sam nodded. "I love her CJ. I think I have since that first night. She's…" Words, for once in his life, failed him utterly, and he looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head in amazement. Finally, inspiration hit, and he looked back at CJ with a shrug. "She's Carol," he said simply.

The smile on CJ's face was one of the widest he'd ever seen from her, the beaming, full toothed grin that she reserved for very special occasions. She nodded, not saying anything, before putting one hand on his shoulder as she stood up. "You should go back to the hospital," she told him.

"I just want to make an appearance in the bullpen…" he said. "I'm sure Bonnie's pretty freaked…"

"Sam?" she called after him. "Talk to Toby as well, would you?"

He nodded. "I'll try," he promised as he walked off.

>*<*>*<

Carol shifted slightly in the seat, pulling the blanket closer up around her chin. Something had roused her from her doze, and she was uncomfortably aware of a draught of cool air creeping in somewhere under the blanket, which was in itself a poor substitute for Sam's warm body. She couldn't seem to get comfortable on the chair either; no matter which way she turned, there was a twinge somewhere, and it was that, as much as the knowledge that there was a voice nearby saying her name that had her opening her eyes.

She sprang into wakefulness when she looked across the room and met a pair of bright blue eyes, staring up at her in confusion from the bed. "Ginger!" she whispered, still accustomed to keeping her voice down in the hospital. "Oh thank God!"

"Carol?" Ginger's voice was a husky croak, and she was frowning as Carol approached her. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Carol waited until she was beside her friend before she asked, taking her hand as she sat down beside her on the bed.

Ginger lifted her other hand, rubbing her eyes. "I remember going home…and I was upset…" Carol frowned inwardly, but kept her face as calm as possible, a skill honed by years of standing in front of the Press Corps alongside CJ. Ginger paused for a moment then, and Carol could see the memories passing across her face, until Ginger finally pressed her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob.

"Hey, it's ok. Ginger, it's ok." Carol wrapped Ginger's hand in both of hers, hoping that she could make her friend believe her. "It's going to be fine. You're ok, and you're going to get better…it's going to be ok."

Tears were streaming down Ginger's face now, and she turned away from Carol. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

"Ginger, you have nothing to be sorry for." Carol's voice was firm. "Look at me." There was something there that made Ginger turn her head back, and Carol leaned a little closer as she continued. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You got yourself into a bad place, and you couldn't find your way out on your own. You didn't choose the best way to go about it, but don't worry about that now. You've got plenty of people around you who are going to help you Ginger. That's a promise."

Ginger frowned again. "I called you, didn't I?"

Carol nodded, knowing that Ginger was trying to piece the night together in her own mind. She knew what that was like. "Sam and I called an ambulance. Went straight over to your place." She had to swallow against the image of Ginger lying motionless on the couch while the paramedics stood over her.

"You were here all night?"

"Where else would we be?" Carol managed a smile and squeezed her hand for good measure. "We're here for you Ginger. Both of us."

Ginger shook her head. "I'm sorry Carol," she whispered, blue eyes huge. "I don't know what I was thinking…"

"That you wanted the pain to stop." The words were out of Carol's mouth before she even thought about them, and she continued, even as Ginger frowned in confusion. "You'd been in pain for so long, and you'd been trying to get past it, and you didn't even realise how bad things were. And you just wanted it all to stop."

In her mind's eye, she wasn't sitting in a hospital room in Washington anymore. She was back in Portland, in the house she'd grown up in. Neither was it Ginger she was looking at; instead, there was a mirror, and the face that was there was both her own and not her own; her face with a mask of despair that she didn't even recognise.

"Carol?" Ginger's voice had her blinking back to reality, and she saw the confusion on her friend's face; and behind it, the unspoken question.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "I used my dad's razor," she said quietly, stretching her arms out in front of her, pulling up the sleeves slowly, exposing the pale white scars there. Her stomach turned slightly at the sight of them, and Ginger's gasp didn't do anything to aid her unease. There was a reason, after all, why she preferred to wear long sleeves. "I was sixteen, and there was this guy…let's just say that he wasn't one of life's gentlemen." There was a wry smile to her mouth as she reflected on the amount of time that it had taken to be able to get that much out without flinching. "One night, he took things further than I wanted to take them…he wouldn't take no for an answer." She left out all the details, but even that much had a cold shudder going through her, and she could almost feel his hands on her, holding her down. "I didn't handle it well; I was pretty withdrawn, until one of my friend introduced me to the numbing effects of alcohol. Which wasn't the way to handle it either. One night, I came home from a party, I was upset, I was drunk…and my dad's razor was in front of me." She took another deep breath, looking up to the ceiling. "I don't remember much else."

Ginger was still staring at the marks on Carol's wrists, and slowly raised her eyes to meet Carol's. "What happened? After?"

"I talked to people. Had my friends and family to support me. Realised that no matter what had happened, that I was alive. That nothing was worth what I'd put myself through, and everyone else. It wasn't easy Ginger; it didn't happen overnight. But it happened. And it will for you too."

Tears once more filled Ginger's eyes. "You can't promise that." Her words were ragged, but there was something underlying them, and it almost sounded like hope.

"Yes I can." Carol's voice was definite. "But you have to promise me that if you feel that bad again, you have to talk to me. You can do this Ginger. But not alone."

They were staring at one another, eyes locked in battle, and it was then that the door opened and a nurse came in; thankfully, not Nurse Hooper. She'd been in and out through the night, throwing Sam dirty looks whenever she saw him looking at her. This was a different nurse though, younger, with an easy smile.

"So you're awake then," she said, smiling as she checked the chart, making some small notations on it as Carol and Ginger waited for her to leave before they resumed their conversation. "Can I get you anything Miss Brady?"

"Maybe some water? Please?" Ginger's voice was still little more than a croak, and her tears had done nothing to help.

"Sure. I'll leave you in Mrs Seaborn's capable hands."

Carol's gaze followed her out, and when she turned back to Ginger, her friend was staring at her with one eyebrow arched. It took a second for Carol to realise what she found so confusing, and when she did, she blushed. "Sam had to throw his weight around a little to get us in here last night," she confessed. "The nurses just assumed we were married, and in all the confusion, we never corrected them."

The change in subject seemed to have been just what Ginger needed, because she smiled up at Carol. "Hey, we've all been calling that one since New Year's Day," she teased, and because there was a smile on her face, and a lightness to her voice, Carol let the other subject drop, knowing that they'd be going back to it later. "Does Sam know?" Ginger asked quietly, eyes dropping first to Carol's wrists, then to the bedclothes.

"Yeah," Carol nodded. "And it doesn't matter to him. And what you did won't matter to anyone else either." Ginger's head flew up at those words, and Carol nodded in reassurance, hoping the undercurrent in her words could go unremarked on. "It's going to be fine," she said again.

"I hope so," Ginger whispered.

Anything further that the two of them might have said was cut off by the opening of the door, and two heads turned, expecting it to be the nurse again. Instead, they were faced with a smiling Sam, a small bag over one shoulder, a jug of water in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He paused at the door for a second, looking at the two figures on the bed before smiling. "Someone want to help me out here?" he quipped, and Carol took the hint, going to him and taking the jug of water. "That's better," Sam continued, dropping the bag beside the chair and approaching Ginger with the flowers. "I saw these downstairs," he told her. "And I thought that they'd look much nicer up here." He laid them down on the bed, bending as he did so to kiss her cheek. "How are you?"

Ginger looked from him to Carol and back. "I'm ok," she told him with a smile, lifting the flowers to her nose. "These are lovely Sam, thank you."

"The nurse said she'd be in in a little while to put them in water."

Ginger accepted a glass of water from Carol and took a sip before looking at Sam again. "Hotel gift shop, hospital gift shop, it's all the same to you, isn't it Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes wide, raising both eyebrows. "If that's sass, then you must be feeling better."

"Carol's been great," Ginger told him, and Carol dipped her head, shaking it slightly in denial.

"We've had a little talk," was all she'd allow.

"What's in the bag?" Ginger asked, looking towards the chair.

Sam tapped Carol on the elbow lightly. "I brought you in a change of clothes in case you wanted one." He turned to Ginger, an apologetic look on his face. "I would have done the same for you, but I didn't think you'd want me poking around in your drawers."

"Well, Carol might have an objection to that too," Ginger pointed out, keeping a perfectly straight face.

"You're definitely feeling better," Sam decided, this time allowing himself to laugh.

"I'll pick you up some stuff later on," Carol promised. "And since you were so good-" she stood on her tiptoes, kissing Sam's cheek quickly. "I think I might run out to the ladies' room." She looked from Sam to Ginger uncertainly. "You two are going to be ok?"

"Go," Ginger insisted, leaning back against the headboard, taking another sip of her glass of water. She smiled at the sight of Carol's hand brushing against Sam's back as she walked by, and at the way that Sam didn't take his eyes off Carol until the door closed behind her. Then he turned back to Ginger, and all traces of humour were gone from his voice. He let out a long breath as he sat down on the bed beside her, much like Carol had done, resting his hands on his legs.

"How are you Ginger?" he asked, and his voice was quiet, his face worried. "Really?"

She looked down at the glass of water in her hand, twirling it slightly, watching the ripples run across the surface. "I don't know Sam," she finally said. "It's been so long since I felt normal, I hardly know what it feels like anymore."

Her admission had him reaching out, touching the back of her hand gently with his index finger, as if he was afraid that any other movement would cause her to shatter. "You know we're here for you, right?"

She nodded, still not looking at him. "Carol said."

"It's not just the two of us," he told her quietly. "Everyone wants to help you Ginger."

That made her look up, her eyes wide. "What did you tell people at work?" she asked, fear and worry radiating from her.

"As far as most people are concerned, you had appendicitis. Carol and I are off somewhere doing things that couples do." His deliberate adaptation of the phrase CJ had employed did its job; Ginger giggled at it. "The only person we called last night was CJ. She only told the people who needed to know."

"Who?" He didn't miss that she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, steeling herself for the names.

"Leo. Josh. Toby. Donna, Margaret, Bonnie. That's all. They all send their love."

"You talked to them?"

"To CJ and Bonnie. I didn't see the others." Although he'd been in CJ's office, he'd studiously avoided going anywhere near Josh's end of the bullpen, and Toby hadn't been in his office when he'd been talking to Bonnie, which, according to Bonnie, was a mercy. She'd echoed CJ's sentiments, that he'd been unbearable ever since he'd heard the news. Ginger's eyes closed shut at that, and one tear leaked from her closed lids. Sam wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but settled for patting her knee awkwardly. "I did see Leo," he told her now, deciding not to mention how Margaret had pumped him for information before he'd been let into the Chief of Staff's office. "He told me to make sure you knew that it didn't matter how long it took you to get better - those were his words - that your job would still be there for you at the end of it."

She sighed, looking up to the ceiling. "That’s nice of him."

"You're not alone Ginger," he told her, this time finding the courage to reach out and put his hand on hers. "Not by a long shot."

>*<*>*<

It was late that evening when the knock came to his door. He stood slowly to answer it, walking carefully along the hall. It wasn't because he was drunk; even though there was an open bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass on the coffee table. The glass was half-empty, and it was only his first. Alcohol didn't seem to have any great pull on him tonight.

He was sure he knew who was going to be at the door, and it was no great surprise when he was proven right. Standing back to let her in, he helped her slip her coat off and hung it up for her, taking a deep breath before he turned back to her. She was just standing there in his hallway, staring at him, her eyes huge, her expression lost; the same expression she'd been wearing the night that all this began for them.

Now, as then, he did the only thing that he could think of to make her feel better. He took her in his arms and held her tightly, felt her arms go around him too. The difference between then and now lay in the fact that now, he needed the comfort as much as she did.

When her grip loosened slightly, he took half a step back, dropping his hand down so that it intertwined with hers and side by side, they walked into the living room together. He dropped her hand so that he could go over to the drinks cabinet and get her a glass, pouring her a generous dose as well before he sat down beside her, not touching, save for their hands, which reached out to one another, almost of their own accord, to lace together once again.

They sat in silence, not looking at each other, each lost in their own thoughts, the only sound in the apartment being their breathing. Finally, she spoke. "Do you think it was because of us?"

He could hear the tears in her voice, hovering just below the surface, and he shook his head, still not looking at her. "No," he said quietly, staring into his glass. "Because if it had been, it would have happened before now, and she was fine at the start of January. It was later…later that she started…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"You knew something was wrong with her?" Her voice was low and horrified.

"I've watched her every day since she began to work for me." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Of course I knew something was wrong with her. But it wasn't my place to say anything; to do anything. I'm not her friend, or her lover. I'm just her boss."

"You're not just her boss," she told him. "And you know that."

"Which is why I couldn't do anything. You, of all people, know what would happen if we crossed that line. You know what the press would do to her. That's why I never…" He stopped talking, shaking his head. "And now, I see what's happened to her, I see where she is now…and I wonder…is it any better?" He took a sip of his drink, the familiar taste doing nothing to soothe him. "And I keep coming up with the same answer."

There was another long period of silence. Once again, she was the one who broke it. "I've been feeling so guilty all day. I keep thinking that…"

"Yeah." He didn't let her finish the thought, didn't want her to, and she was silent for another long minute before speaking again.

"Can I stay tonight?"

Her plea made him look up at her, his dark eyes serious, her lighter ones pleading, unsure. "I'm not so sure…" he began, but she cut him off, shaking her head quickly, that fast, almost imperceptible denial that she'd made her own.

"Not like that…I don't want…I mean…" She took a breath, let it out slowly, taking a gulp of her drink before she tried again. "Can you just hold me? Please?"

His face was still, betraying nothing of his feelings, of the turmoil underneath. "I think I might need that too," was all he said, leaning back on the couch, putting his arm around her.

She leaned back too, resting her head on his shoulder, not saying anything else, not needing to speak to know that they were both thinking the same thing - how had things come to this?

>*<*>*<

She shifted slightly in bed, turning slightly, trying to get comfortable. It didn't work, and, sleep interrupted, she opened her eyes, intending to pour herself a glass of water, to see if that would help her. She didn't know what time it was, but she knew that Sam and Carol had left before she fell asleep, only at her insistence. Carol had wanted to stay, but she'd barely slept the previous night, nor had Sam; the hospital chairs not being conducive to slumber. Sam, with the benefit of a shower and some fresh air, was slightly more alert, but Carol had been out on her feet when Sam and Ginger finally combined to convince her that they should leave. Carol had promised that she'd be back first thing the next morning, and Ginger had promised that she'd do her best to get some rest. Which was easier said than done, she thought now, considering that the hospital bed was about as comfortable as a sheet of plywood.

The glass of water was in her hand before she saw him sitting in the chair across the room from her, and she bit back a scream with effort, turning into a shocked gasp. He had the grace to look chagrined at that. "Jesus, you scared me," she told him now.

He smirked at that, his trademark smirk, the one that had been known to presage trouble, or a smart remark, or both. "There's a lot of that going around," he told her, leaning forward in the chair. She looked down at that, and he was instantly contrite. "I shouldn't have said that," he told her quietly. "I apologise."

She raised an eyebrow at that; she couldn't help it. "Will wonders never cease," she murmured to herself.

He stood up then, pacing around the room restlessly, running a hand through his hair. The curls, she couldn't help but notice, were even wilder than usual, as if he'd spent long hours doing that today. "I just…just tell me why," he finally said. It wasn't a demand, or an accusation, more of a plea. "Was it to do with us?"

"No," she said quietly, having had time in between the others leaving and her falling asleep to think about it. "And yes. Maybe. I don't know."

His eyes grew wide and he stopped in front of her. "That's your answer?" he asked.

"I don't know. That's the truth."

"But I thought…" He started pacing again. "You were fine after New Year's. You joked with me that morning…you were fine. What happened?"

She took a deep breath, knowing that she had to be honest with him now. "I thought I was pregnant." The words stunned him; she could see that in the way that he whipped around to her, his face gone chalk white. "It was a false alarm," she told him quickly, looking down at the bedclothes, fingers picking at them absently. "Which I tried to tell myself was lucky. But then I got to thinking about all the things that I didn't have in my life…" She broke off, tears coming to her eyes, fighting hard to keep them back. "And I tried, I tried not to think like that, I tried to stop myself. But it was like the more I tried, the worse it got, and I couldn't…I didn't know how…"

She stopped talking when two hands folded themselves over hers, holding them tightly. She looked up, to see him standing beside her bed, his eyes serious. "This guy's walking down a street, when he falls in a hole," he began, his voice choked. "The walls are so steep that he can't get out. A doctor passes by; the guy shouts up 'Hey you! Can you help me out?' The doctor writes him a prescription, throws it down the hole and moves on." He paused then, sitting down on the bed, but he didn't let go of her hands. "Next, a priest comes along and the guy shouts up 'Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on." His gaze moved from her face down to their joined hands, and his voice dropped lower still. "Then a friend walks by. And the guy calls out, he says, 'Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!'" He looked up again then, raising her hands to his lips quickly. "And the friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out.'"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried to say his name, to say anything, but she couldn't quite get it out.

"I know the way out," he repeated. "And I'm going to help you find it too."

She didn't even bother keeping back her sobs; just threw herself into his arms and cried on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her, and let her.

>*<*>*<

She came awake with a gasp, pulse racing, heart pounding. She couldn't see anything at first in the darkness of the room, and her mind filled in the images that she had seen in her dream. The face in the mirror that she knew and yet didn't know. The cold sharp steel of the blade, the hiss of pain she'd made as the metal pushed into the soft white flesh of her wrist. The smell of blood, almost metallic, definitely bitter, rising up and surrounding her. The white of the porcelain tiles slowly turning crimson before everything went black.

There had been other images too, things that she couldn't remember, hadn't seen, had only been told about. Mom screaming, Dad crying, Jimmy standing beside a fire in the back garden, the other kids scrubbing the bathroom floor clean.

Then the room was flooded with brightness and she gasped again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut against the sudden assault. But the brief glimpse had told her that she was in her own bed, in her room at home, assuring her that it had just been a dream, a nightmare. A memory.

"Oh God," she whispered, her voice sounding strange and foreign, even to her own ears as she ran her hands over her face and through her hair, shivering both from the dream, and from the cold night air moving over her naked skin.

And then there was movement beside her, a warm hand sliding across her back, pulling her into his embrace. Still with her eyes closed she trusted him to guide her, and she felt her head slide into the crook of his neck, his head resting on top of hers. His other arm slipped around her waist and he held her tightly, rocking her back and forth, not saying anything, just holding her, his flesh almost melding with hers, a silent reassurance that he was there, that she was safe, protected, with him.

When he heard her breathing slow, felt her heart stop pounding, he eased them both back, until they were lying down again, one hand moving through her hair. He pulled back slightly, so that he could look down into her face, lifting one dark brow in a silent question. Her lips curved up slightly in an uncertain smile, more a hope than a definite answer, and his hand reached up to her cheek before it moved down to cup her chin. He bent his head then, meeting his lips with hers, kissing her quickly, chastely, once, then twice, before pulling back again, kissing the top of her head. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached back, snapping off the bedside light, so that last thing that either of them saw was the other's face.

In the darkness, she finally found her voice. "I love you," she whispered, and she felt him smile against her hair.

"I love you too." 


End file.
